


Mercy

by FrostOverlord



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bunny gets hurt, Dark!Jack, Gen, Horror, Jack doesn't like it, M/M, Pitch does bad things, Revenge, Torture, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostOverlord/pseuds/FrostOverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No words would dissuade Jack from his path, not now. He is joy and light, but he is also Winter.</p>
<p>And now he is beyond the point of rage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

The lair of Pitch Black was dark. Pitch black one might say, if they were in the mood for puns. It made sense, after all, with the nightmare king being master of darkness and fear. The darkness of the lair, however, inspired no fear in the young man that walked its corridors, wooden staff clicking cheerfully against the ebony stones below his bare feet. He needed no light to guide him, he knew exactly where he was going, and deprived of sight he could not be easily tricked by the illusions saturating the halls. A sinister smile decorated his face as he walked carelessly towards his destination, leaving behind little patches of frost each time his staff impacted the earth below and humming a tuneless song. He looked to be harmless.

The shadows that kept watch of the corridors knew better. They steered clear, keeping as far from the white-haired boy as possible.

It wasn’t long until he had reached his destination, the place where the corridors opened up into a large cavern filled with hanging cages and lit by a pale yellow light somewhere up above. At the room’s center, perched upon the edge of a cliff, was a globe as black as the shadows the man had left behind. In front of that was a throne. A new addition, or perhaps an old one that the young man had simply not seen the last time he came here. He didn’t much care, disregarding the throne in favor of looking around the room in search of his quarry.

He didn’t need to search very long.

A silky, echoing voice boomed up behind him, and he stopped his searching to listen.

“Why, Jack Frost, to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of this visit?” the voice called, sarcastic tone hinting at the theatrical nature of the question. Pitch Black knew exactly why Jack had come. He was reveling in it.

Jack turned slowly, smile widening as he scanned the room for the master of the house. “Oh, you know,” he called back with false cheer, “Figured it’s been a while since I last had a chat with my favorite bad guy, and what better time to catch up than now?”

A shadow shifted off to Jack’s left, and he immediately locked his eyes on that spot. Sure enough, the boogeyman himself stepped out, grim smile upon his face and amber eyes ever-calculating. “Really now, Jack,” he replied easily, gliding across the ground towards his throne with grace befitting royalty, “It’s not nice to lie, especially to family.”

Jack’s smile dropped into a frown for an instant at the reminder of the unfortunate spiritual relation, finding out that Pitch was the father of Mother Nature had been a nauseating revelation at best, but soon his smile returned in all its malicious glory, causing Pitch’s smile to fall somewhat in response. He had been expecting something else; an outburst maybe, definitely at least some hint of anger, but the Spirit of Winter remained serene, bouncing the crook of his staff playfully off the ground. Still, the boogieman’s eyes shone with confidence, surety that he could handle whatever Jack could throw at him now that he had once again asserted his influence over the world.

Had he listened to the whispers of the shadows he commanded, had he noticed sooner the cold anger sparkling within those serene blue eyes, he may have reconsidered that.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Jack spoke. His tone bright and cheerful in a way that made Pitch shift nervously. “You got me, Boogie-Woogie,” Jack stated, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender, “I’m not actually here to talk. See, I don’t think talking is going to work out so well. After all, that wasn’t a very nice thing you did to my friend.”

In a blur of motion Jack staff came up so that the crook was pointed at Pitch, and the Nightmare King immediately shifted into a defensive posture. “Come now Jack,” he replied carefully, watching the other spirit closely and smiling his wicked smile, “You wouldn’t hurt family, would you? What would your dear sister think?”

Jack did not respond, his smile remained intact.

Pitch’s own smile faltered. A millennia and more fighting the guardians, and never once had mention of the Winter Spirit’s long departed sister failed to elicit a reaction. Something was wrong. Amber eyes narrowed to slits, and time seemed to stand still as the world’s fears splayed out in front of them. Visions, flashes of horror and tragedy played out in triple-time, skipping from one terror to the next until the visions were seen from the ice-blue eyes of Jack Frost. It seemed to be as it had always been- a spirit standing alone in the darkness, shunned by those around him- except now the Rabbit was far more prominent, to the point where his word outweighed all others combined. Little nightmares played in the background: the horrified eyes of a little girl as water flooded in to obscure her image; the same little girl, falling through ice because her brother moved too slowly; the earth a frozen wasteland with a boy in blue the lone survivor; The pooka, ripped into shreds by shadowed figures, reduced to a head yet still alive and screaming soundlessly in pure agony-

Pitch’s eyes widened in surprise as he was pushed out of visions, “The Rabbit survived.”

Jack’s smile widened, more teeth than necessary shimmering in the dim lighting of Pitch Black’s lair, “Look who finally got the memo,” he called, voice light with menacing cheer, “Don’t know how, really, but I guess you just can’t kill Hope.”

Pitch did not respond, instead reaching out with his mind for what remained of his nightmare sand as Jack began to prattle on. He knew, though he didn’t know how, that words would do him no good here. “You hurt him pretty bad, Boogie-woogie,” the boy continued, his tone in sharp contrast to his words, “It’ll take at least a few weeks for the parts we could recover to reattach themselves and heal properly, and another few years for what’s missing to fully reform. Not to mention how long it’ll take before he’ll be able to move again on his own.”

Blue eyes met gold, and Jack laughed, “We’ll have to cover Easter for him for a while, but he’ll survive. It’s a shame, though,” a shepherd’s crook shifted into two hands to be examined, “That he won’t get the chance to rip into you himself.”

It was impossible to tell who struck first, just that in that instant ice met sand center-stage, Jack’s twisted laughter echoing throughout the cave such that the master of fear’s skin began to crawl. He moved quickly, darting between near-miss bolts of ice and striking with a sword of sand at the madman wearing the face of Jack Frost. His opponent, however, was just as quick. They fought for hours in a lethal dance, neither managing to land a blow, when Pitch finally came to a realization. One which chilled his blood and bone as the horrifying thought crept into his mind.

Jack Frost, Guardian of Joy, who had only days ago been so easily defeated, was _toying_ with him.

As if reading his mind, Jack’s laughter returned, “You clue in, I take it?” he asked, generating a wave of ice splinters with an off-hand gesture of his staff.

Pitch scowled as he rolled out of the way, a wall of sand blocking what he could not avoid, “How is this possible?!” he demanded, “You were weak only days ago, you should not be this powerful!”

At that, Jack paused in his assault. There was a sickening snap, and the air froze with him. Diamond dust danced above them as Jack’s smile somehow widened further, and a dark chuckle fell past his lips. A sinister chuckle which transformed into a laugh, and Pitch found himself unable to move as the laughter transitioned into words that sparked terror in his core. “Didn't you notice, Pitch?” Jack questioned, gesturing randomly with his free hand, “All those times we fought? I had a handicap each, and every, time.”

And it was true, Pitch realized. Not once before had he and Jack fought when the scales were not tipped drastically in the nightmare king’s favor. Sympathetic magic, manipulation, emotional outbursts, hostages, injury. Jack had always had a handicap before.

This time he didn’t.

Pitch turned to run, moving towards some shadow he could use to escape, but just as his fingers brushed against cool darkness the shadows were ripped out of the room. Pitch recoiled in pain as searing light ripped past his body, covering his eyes to protect them as he turned to see what had cut off his pathway to escape. At first he could see nothing past the blinding light, but as his eyes managed to adjust he saw the silhouette of Jack, arm up and holding some ovular object aloft. Pitch swung with his hand and commanded his sands to attack, to disrupt the light long enough that he might escape from the spirit bearing down on him.

Golden grains tumbled through his fingers.

Pitch cursed his own foolishness as it dawned on him what Frost had done. All around him pillars of ice built over hours of fighting took the accursed light in, amplified it, and spat it out at every possible angle. A light which burned the darkness away, banishing shadows and soothing nightmares. A light which breathed life and hope into each and every surface that it touched.

Jack Frost had brought with him the light from the beginning of the universe.

Pitch fell to his knees, his strength drained from hours of fighting and by the power of the burning light which permeated every orifice of the room.

The laughter did not return, though the click of wood against stone signaled Jack Frost’s approach. Pitch looked up at the young man’s expressionless face.

“You cannot kill me,” were the first words from his foolish mouth, “I am Fear itself, I will not die.”

Jack smiled at that, a thin smile that held no warmth. “Kill you?” he asked, a huff of amusement filtered through his nose, “Why would I want to kill you?”

Pitch’s mouth opened as if to answer, but no words came out. Dread curled up in his gut as Jack turned away, thumb rubbing against the bottom of his chin in thought. “No, that would be _cruel,_ Pitch! After all, it was so _kind_ of you to leave Bunny alive, how could I possibly think of killing you when you did something like that?” The words rolled off of Jack’s tongue with ease, hinting at their true meaning behind the cheerful tone of voice. After a moment of pacing, Jack stopped and turned his head to look back at Pitch, unable to move from his prone position on the ground. “No,” he said, “I have a much better idea.”

Jack turned around completely and knelt down next to Pitch, reaching out slowly to grip the other man’s hand. “You know,” he whispered, cold leaking from him in waves and feeding the ice below their feet, “Bunny called me Frostbite back when we first met. A nice nickname, I guess, but I never liked it much. Which was probably the point, now that I think of it.”

The cold traveled down Jack’s arm, and graced against Pitch’s finger. He tried to pull away from the cold, the dread in his gut turning to nausea.

“See, Frostbite is a horrible, horrible thing. It starts out in the extremities, and left alone it’ll _veeeeeery_ slowly creep its way inward. Tingling along your limbs until it finally takes root in the heart.”

Even as the words were spoken, the tips of Pitch’s fingers began to itch. His hand slowly turning blue-to-black before his eyes. Jack just smiled, eyes dancing with violence.

“It goes numb at first, but then the skin hardens and the freezing reaches the inside. That’s when the pain starts. Muscles, Tendons, blood vessels all begin to freeze up, and use of the limb is lost. Permanently. Nasty way to go if you’re awake for it, incredibly painful. Humans are lucky, they tend to fall asleep when it gets that cold, don’t feel a thing. Spirits, though,” Jack chuckled darkly, “We don’t sleep much, now do we, Pitch?”

Pitch swallowed, and whispered soundlessly.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“… Mercy… please.”

Jack’s smile fell away, and he looked at Pitch in confusion, “Mercy?”

Pitch’s fear turned to Rage, and he surged forward uselessly, “Yes! Mercy! Are you not the ‘hero?’ Is it not in your nature to grant Mercy?”

Jack, face otherwise blank, huffed a single laugh. “Oh, Pitch, you really don’t get it do you?” The boy’s smile returned, and he leaned in close to whisper in the boogieman’s ear.

“This _is_ mercy.”

There was a sickening crash as Jack shattered Pitch’s frozen hand, and agony shot through his arm. Jack said nothing as he stood up and stepped away. He reached to a pillar of ice, and the ovular object he had placed there before approaching Pitch closed itself as he retrieved it. The light dimmed, but did not go away, for fragments had been trapped within the ice adorning the floor and walls. Jack rolled the object, a metallic egg, between his fingers.

Then he walked away, leaving Pitch to scream in agony as ice that would never bring numbness crept up his form.

**Author's Note:**

> So it's October, and I figured what better time to give you guys this lovely idea that's been stewing in my head than right next to Halloween!
> 
> This _definitely_ could be better, but I'm impatient and want to know what you all think. Hopefully I got across the story that I wanted to. Hope you all enjoyed it. :P
> 
> Also, hopefully, everything is marked up properly. *still doesn't know how to tag very well*
> 
> EDIT: I wrote a Sequel fic for this during Jackrabbit week in 2015, and it has been brought to my attention that I should probably mention that. So, should you wish to read more, enjoy [_Mending More Than Just the Pieces._](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3688665/chapters/8356015)


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